I would have preferred a spyglass
by Fantony
Summary: Christmas 1983. The Holmes brothers do like to tease each other. One-shot inspired by a scene in TEH. No huge spoiler though.


**Note: **_I took Benedict's year of birth as a reference (1976), so at Christmas 83, Sherlock (born on January.6) was 7, almost 8, and Mycroft was 14. And I... Well, I was three months old! Hehe. Irma and Alfred are the housekeeper and the handyman._

_**Please keep in mind that I'm French, hence the English mistakes!**__** ;)**_

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**I WOULD HAVE PREFERED A SPYGLASS**

"Looks like Santa brought you a present. I found that packet next to the fireplace. There's your name on it," Mycroft Holmes tells his brother Sherlock as he enters their father's office on the Christmas morning. Their parents still are at the Patterson's, a couple of retired friends with whom they celebrate Christmas Eve every year and always end up staying for the night. Mostly because they wouldn't like their sons to see them tipsy, which is quite ridiculous, the brothers think, as they actually never have time to sober up before coming back home for the Christmas lunch. So it's never been a secret for the boys but they have always pretended not to notice.

"Santa?" Sherlock asks, not looking up from the test tubes scattered on the desk and apparently containing different types of clays. Mycroft isn't surprised anymore by his little brother's experiments. And even if he would never admit it, he is proud of Sherlock. He no longer feels like a freak. He no longer feels... lonely. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?" Sherlock goes on. "It was hidden behind the plates in the sideboard. I know because Daddy looked embarrassed the other day, when I wanted to take a plate for an experiment. He insisted to take it himself and he hastened to close the door. And Irma put the packet next to the fireplace before I got up this morning. Santa? My foot!"

"It was Alfred, actually," Mycroft corrects.

Sherlock looks up expectantly, his eyes shining both with irritation and interest.

"There's a small mark of soot here," Mycroft explains, placing the packet on the desk and pointing at a very small black stain on the green gift wrap. "Irma never takes care of the fire."

"How would I know? I hadn't even seen the packet until now!" Sherlock exclaims, indignantly.

Mycroft raises his eyebrows accusingly.

"Yes, you had, Sherlock. You even shook it to try and figure out what it was." Sherlock stares at Mycroft, a look of utter disdain on his face and then plunges back to his test tubes. "See? I _am_ the smart one," Mycroft smirks.

"Shut up, Mycroft!" Mycroft's grin widens. "It's a skill game which works with at least one battery", Sherlock mutters absently. Mycroft tilts his head.

"Two batteries. Not included. But you'll probably find some in the drawer. And I'd say the game's got something to do with medicine."

Sherlock pretends not to hear but Mycroft knows he is dying to unwrap the gift and see if his brother's deduction is right. After a minute that looks like an eternity, Sherlock tears the gift wrap frantically and Mycroft have to refrain from laughing as Sherlock discovers the Operation game. His face is blank but his mouth twitches and Mycroft knows his brother is boiling inside because he feels like his intelligence has just been insulted. Of course, Sherlock is not going to tell he is in awe. He is far too proud for that.

"I would have preferred a spyglass," he pouts. _**(*) **_"What did they get you?"

"Latin dictionary," Mycroft replies in a detached tone.

"Didn't you already get one last year?"

"Indeed. But it was a Collins one. This year's an Oxford. I must say I'm quite impressed by their sense of innovation. Wanna bet I'm gonna get another umbrella for my birthday?"

Sherlock grins and Mycroft is secretly happy to see him smile again.

"Let's play!" Sherlock offers enthusiastically.

"And what, Sherlock Holmes, makes you believe I'd play such a childish game?"

"Your determination to win. Whatever the game."

Mycroft rolls his eyes and takes a seat in front of Sherlock.

"I give you fifteen minutes, and no more!" He says, trying to sound more exasperated than excited.

"Oh, I won't need that much time to beat you, Mycroft."

Fifteen minutes later. There's a loud buzzing as Mycroft is trying to remove the 'wrenched ankle'.

"Oh, bugger!" he mumbles, dropping the tweezers angrily and trying to ignore his brother's triumphant smile. He glances at his watch. "Anyway, it's all been very entertaining, but I've got homework to do and I'd better get it done before the guests arrive. You know what it's like, Auntie Suzie's gonna get me on her grip again and I won't be able to leave the table before tonight. And I guess it's gonna sound suspicious if she chokes on an olive's stone for the second year in a row..."

"I knew it was you."

"Of course it was me. Yes, well, no harm done. It would take more than that to kill the old bat."

"You know you can't lie to me, Mycroft."

"Ok, you knew for the olive's stone. You have my eternal admiration," Mycroft replies sarcastically. "Now if you excuse me..."

"You perfectly know I'm not talking about the olive's stone. I'm talking about your homework. You did all your exercises on the first day of the holidays. You just can't stand losing."

"See you at lunch, brother dear," Mycroft says, an exaggerated fake smile on his face as he stands up and makes his way to the door.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock calls him out as he reaches the doorframe. He stops dead in his tracks and turns around hesitantly.

"Hmm?"

"How did you figure out the game had something to do with medicine?"

"Oh, that. Because Mummy told me last week that she had gotten you an Operation game for Christmas." His annoyance seems to fade away instantly and he looks genuinely amused by Sherlock's flabbergasted face. "Not everything can be deduced, Sherlock."

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_**(*) This, of course, is an allusion to Sherlock's childhood dream to become a pirate ;) **_

**Thanks for reading and happy new year to you all! **

**Published on January.5 2014**


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